


Dosage

by TruckThat



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Blow Jobs, Classic Kylux, Drug Use, M/M, Medical Experimentation, PWP, Tumblr: kyluxhardkinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 13:48:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16914018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruckThat/pseuds/TruckThat
Summary: General Hux has requested a closed meeting with Kylo Ren. Against all expectations, it is apparentlynotin order to reprimand him while he is under orders to cooperate. It is, however, in order to secure his cooperation.





	Dosage

**Author's Note:**

> Another bit of my ongoing Tumblr backup and evacuation. Originally posted to my Tumblr in 2017:
> 
> For this @kyluxhardkinks prompt: “ Kylo becomes the First Orders’ test subject in their latest scientific developments. Hux is tired of Kylo’s tantrums, and gasses him with an aphrodisiac/relaxant that makes him more submissive/suggestible (kind of like the sex pollen trope). Kylo finds himself feeling very good, warm, and turned on, and so willing to do everything Hux says, wanting almost desperately to please him. Good is all he ever wants to be.” 
> 
> Also - I never do this but **additional details on the non-con warning are available in the end notes**. Spoiler-ish for whatever value a PWP can be spoiled. Please check 'em before reading if you have concerns.
> 
> I’ll admit that this got away from me. I just wanted to see Hux _win_.

“You want to _dose_ me with something?”

“Yes, precisely.” Hux treats him to his nastiest, thinnest smile. “The new interrogation serum, to make sure it’s efficacious in all cases. We wouldn’t want any other Force-sensitive prisoners to pose… unfortunate difficulties, in future.”

Kylo can admit that it does sting a bit, to have his nose dragged through his failures like this. The worse sting is probably that it is _Hux_ reminding him, _Hux_ who he’s failed in front of. He knows that the general has spent years feeling the chafe of his own orders to work alongside _Kylo Ren, of all people_ , rather than above him where Hux feels he belongs — Kylo can feel the heat of Hux’s smugness now, of his regained superiority even over such an inconsequent piece of ground. It is an intensely bitter thing, to feel his rival’s petty triumph under his breastbone like it’s Kylo’s own victory turned hollow.

Does Hux know he can feel that? He wonders, sometimes.

Honestly, when he received notification that General Hux had scheduled a meeting, alone, in a closed interrogation room, Kylo had expected to be dressed down. He’d expected to be reamed out like a cadet and made to take it meekly. He has his own chafing orders, his own sharply-worded instructions to _cooperate_ , and Hux well knows it. So at least this is a surprise: a much different power play from the one he’d expected. If it wasn’t also such a _transparent_ power play, such a waste of time otherwise, Kylo might have found it interesting.

He gives Hux’s proposal a second’s irritated consideration.

“Do you have any reason to think it won’t affect a Force user? I can burn some drugs out, but something like an interrogation serum is — it should _work_. From a physiological perspective.” The whole situation is, in fact, neither interesting nor useful. “Maybe it would be effective over a shorter duration. But the mental discipline of—”

“Oh no,” Hux says blithely, right over top of him, “I’m reasonably certain that your discipline, such as it is, has no bearing on the situation. The hypothesis here is that it will be _entirely_ effective.” That narrow mouth turns up just a fraction more. It’s somehow an even more unpleasant expression. “I’ve read the research team’s reports thoroughly: it works better in initial tests than any of your Jedi theatrics, it’s certainly tidier, and I think it will work on you too. You in particular, I mean.”

“So. You mean to tell me… this drug. You’ve already run human trials on it?”

“A small number, yes. They were by all accounts quite successful.” Hux just keeps on smirking, waiting Kylo out. “You’re rather an afterthought to the testing process.”

Despite himself, Kylo can feel an incensed snarl building up inside his chest. Hux is baiting him, he _knows_ it. It doesn’t matter, he’s stomped halfway across the little room anyway to stalk right up into where Hux somehow thinks he can cow Kylo Ren.

“You think I’ll sit here like some—lab rat trooper?” he growls, now right in Hux’s face. It’s Hux’s arrogant fucking _face_ that’s the problem. He wants to dig his fingers in around the edges and rip that contemptuous expression straight off of him. Not to hear him scream, just to hear him _shut up_. “For a test that doesn’t even matter _._ You’ve decided I’m so weak that a half-tested truth drug will make me crumple? There’s a problem with your plan, General: none of your troops can get close enough to someone with the Force to even use it. I’d like to see your team of treasonous incompetents fucking _try_.”

“Insightful and to the point as always, Ren, thank you,” Hux drawls. He doesn’t even lean back out of Kylo’s space. “That is exactly what I propose. In fact, I propose to fucking try it on you myself.”

And he’s _looking forward to it_ , he doesn’t say, but he doesn’t have to. His tone has an edge of casual, repellant interest that from this close up hypnotizes Kylo, almost, in its loathsomeness. He wants to stop hearing it. He needs to.

He needs to shut Hux up with—anything, anything in the entire world, but somehow he says: “Because you want me torture me until I’m compliant where you can get me alone? So no one will know what a sadist you are? How much you think you’re going to _enjoy_ it? You’re disgusting.”

They stare each other down like a pair of Akiva pit vipers.

Hux, of course, decides he’s won. “It’s better than _that_ , Ren,” he scoffs. “Give me some credit for imagination. You’re here, aren’t you? Clearly, I can force you to comply any time I like.”

Shut up, shut up, Kylo will _shut him up_. He locks his feet in place on the floor to prevent himself from lunging right for Hux’s skinny neck.

Cool as anything even though he must be able to see how hard Kylo is fighting not to strike him where he stands, Hux turns and strolls over to the storage bank at the far side of the room. Kylo thinks he can feel his eyeballs starting to _boil_. Maybe by focusing the sensation through the back of the general’s head he can boil Hux’s eyeballs instead.

“This doesn’t make anyone compliant,” Hux says.

Maybe he can boil Hux’s eyeballs _without even using the Force_.

Hux’s smile when he glances over his shoulder at Kylo so casually is the most skin-crawlingly cloudless thing Kylo has ever seen. He does it just to make sure that Kylo knows his change of position has not been a retreat. Just to make sure that Kylo knows that Hux has won. This is an edge of suicidal daring that Kylo must have known Hux possessed, and yet to see it laid so bare—

Perhaps Hux _is_ half mad, after everything.

“It makes you _want_ to comply,” Hux says, slickly, confidingly, “which I think we can both agree is a very different thing.”

Kylo stares at him. He doesn’t shut Hux up. He doesn’t boil anything. He’s so repulsed that he’s fascinated, enough almost to eclipse his anger.

In the fraught silence, Hux turns back to the chromed cabinets and busies himself with the contents of a black plasti-shell case. The contents look like what might be in a medkit, except that it’s unlabelled, and he’s quiet while he works. But he glances back up at Kylo with something more like his usual ugly smirk as he loads a syringe cartridge and flicks at it with expert assurance. “Don’t worry,” he says, snotty again instead of frightening, “I’ve seen your med reports. You’re the ideal test subject: no medications to interact with, more lives than a loth-cat, and a constitution like a slab of rock.”

He depresses the injector the tiniest bit. There’s a click of minuscule hydraulics, loud in the chilly room, and the needle oozes a little clear fluid.

The interrogation chair in the centre of the room hasn’t even been equipped with restraints; it’s laid out flat like a cot. More as if Hux expects Kylo to lie down for a medical examination than as if he hopes to have the leader of the Knights of Ren shackled down and screaming. This brazen display of confidence in this new—whatever it is, this new wonder drug, can be nothing but idiocy. It’s hubris; it has to be. Hux has no idea what Kylo is made of, no idea of the kind of strength he thinks to meddle with here. He’s so confident that this will humiliate him and so sure that Kylo will simply buckle. He wants to try—fine then, so be it. Kylo will let him try.

Kylo will watch him fail.

He sits down on the edge of the makeshift cot, tests the way it’s locked in place with his weight, and waits.

For a moment after he crosses over to where Kylo sits, Hux just looks at him. He stands very near, hands at his sides, and studies Kylo’s face with a kind of hostile confusion. Surprised that he doesn’t have to grab Kylo by the arm and forcibly skewer him with the syringe he’s holding, probably. Maybe even disappointed.

“Well?” Kylo says, impatient. The fastest way to prove Hux wrong is just to do it. He’s practically eager now to get this started. “Are we going to find out?”

Hux frowns and then covers for it. It’s the same little microexpression of dissatisfaction he gets when the readout on his data screen isn’t precisely as expected. “Yes,” he says slowly, “I suppose we are.” He reaches out completely without Kylo’s permission and pushes up the half sleeve of his loose tunic.

“Wait,” Kylo says, “what am I keeping from you?”

“Oh,” Hux tilts his head, and he’s back under tight control, expression as smooth as his voice again, “anything, Ren. Pick anything you like.”

It pricks, and then it _burns_ — Kylo doesn’t mind injections, doesn’t mind much of anything, but this one comes with a nasty pressure feeling right in the muscle. And then it doesn’t.

“Hm,” Hux says. Still studying him. His fingers are cold on Kylo’s bare shoulder. “You might want to lie down.”

Kylo does it.

The Finalizer’s ceilings are mostly the same colour as its floors, he’s noticed. Here, where Kylo is suddenly lying on his back waiting to be questioned, but also in Kylo’s own quarters. Probably even in the General’s quarters. The effect is a little disorienting — good in an interrogation room, though. It seems like it would help. In a better-funded Order, perhaps Hux could have any colour of bedroom ceiling he wanted. Or floor. But he probably would still have a room that was all durasteel grey with rusty edges; he’s probably immune to disorientation and to comfort as well.

“One possible side-effect,” Hux is saying in his most clipped, clinical voice from just outside of Kylo’s shifted field of vision, “is mild dizziness. But overall you should feel quite relaxed, quite quickly. Yes?”

Relaxed? He hears the throb of his own heartbeat very loud inside his empty head, suddenly, and then louder — but no, he’s wrong. “Hux,” he starts to say at the flat grey ceiling, “I think…”

He’s wrong, because the throbbing is heavy, overwhelming, not expected and not relaxing at all; he thinks maybe he’s been given the wrong drug and Hux should probably know about it. Or. It isn’t that, quite. He can’t tell. He’s taking too long to decide. “Hux,” Kylo says again, “I think it’s, um.” Working. It’s definitely working.

He can’t tell if it’s arousal that runs through him so slowly and so completely — almost, it might be; it’s heavy like that — or some simpler kind of desire, or just that he is all at once so overwhelmingly comfortable that he feels it very sudden and strange. He turns his head to blink up at Hux and feels it pulse into him, fill him, _fix_ him, in from his fingers and his feet until it pools with a visceral weight at his centre. _Centred_. That’s what he is.

Centred is what he has tried to be for so long, and suddenly he _is_ , and he can feel the beat of his own being in his chest and he can hear it in his head.

“There. I told you. It’s fast, hm?” says Hux with his empty syringe. With his smug, approving face. Lucky for him, Kylo is grounded now to the bed and the floor under that and the steel backbone of the Finalizer under _that_ — and so he knows that the Force presses on both of them and the ship and all of them, holds them so snug — and this is how he also knows now that the approval matters more than the smugness. He’s had Hux’s infuriating smugness before. He has _never_ had his approval.

It feels… It feels so, so nice.

He has been searching for something to ground himself on, to centre himself on, for years and years. Forever.

“Hux,” Kylo says. Just that, nothing else.

“You fearless thing,” Hux murmurs, leaning down to him, as though _fearless_ is meant to be the insult there. He takes Kylo’s chin in those cold, bare fingers, tilts him this way and that to examine him. “You’d do anything, wouldn’t you, just so you could spit it right back in my face.”

Anything. He would, he would.

“Tell me,” Hux says — and Kylo would do that too; he’d tell Hux— “if you experience a headache, doubled vision, any discomfort.”

 _Dis_ comfort? No, no, he doesn’t feel that, but— “Thought you were torturing me. Don’t you,” doesn’t he, “ _want_ me to hurt?” But it doesn’t hurt.

“No, Ren,” Hux is looking into his eyes very closely, he’s gotten so close, “you’re not intended to be in pain just at present.”

“Oh,” Kylo says, stupefied by the nearness, by Hux’s taut and finely attenuated attention. Maybe stupefied by whatever’s in his veins that’s making him not even mind that he feels too warm and lazy to reach out for Hux, either mentally or physically. “No. It feels, uh, not bad.”

He could lie here forever, with Hux’s grip firm along his jaw.

The strangest thing: Hux quirks his eyebrow at him, almost conspiratorially. The more dignified prelude to the wink he might give to a confidant. If Hux ever winked. If they were ever confidants. “It feels rather good, I should think.”

Oh. _Oh_. “Yes. Yeah, it feels…”

“Perfect,” Hux says. He pronounces every consonant so precisely and it thrills right through Kylo. “That’s exactly right.”

“I…” _Exactly_ , Hux had said. Perfect. To Kylo. So close to Kylo. And it’s the only thing inside of him, the only thing he can feel, but he’s confessing, his lips are dry: “I don’t think it’s working right. I mean. The drug is. I’m all— But… the experiment. Hux. I don’t remember what I’m not supposed to tell you.”

“No?” Hux purrs, and he sounds so _happy_. Even though Kylo is doing it so wrong.  His thumb taps thoughtfully, casually, just at the point of Kylo’s chin. Just below Kylo’s bottom lip. And then — Hux lets go. He stands back: in parade rest, like at an inspection. Kylo turns his face to follow him without a thought. “That’s all right. That’s just fine, Ren, because you can tell me anything, can’t you? Anything at all.”

Every time Hux says his name, says it like he’s listening and he’s looking and he doesn’t hate him right now, that’s the only thing Kylo can think of. Just that, only that, but anyway he doesn’t need to tell Hux that because Hux must know. He’s doing it already. He wouldn’t, not normally; he doesn’t talk to Kylo like that, which means he has to know.

“What should I do?” Kylo asks, because this was supposed to be a test. Hux loves tests. Surely Hux will continue this one anyway, even though maybe Kylo has already failed. “About the interrogation.”

“Ah,” Hux licks his own lips sympathetically like he the other thing he knows is just how parched Kylo feels, “well. What should we do, indeed. Since there’s nothing you can’t tell me, perhaps you should just… go ahead. Tell me. What _is_ it that you want, Kylo Ren?”

A tiny sound squeaks out of him. That word, _want_ , opens up inside Kylo like a pit. Like a gulf, like a flower and at the centre of it is rows and rows of bloodied teeth. His whole world narrows down to nothing but lack, and he mistakes it for thirst. He is thirsty. “Water,” he croaks.

He is _blinded_ without Hux’s touch on him.

Hux’s eyebrows shoot up — he looks really, truly surprised. And then faintly amused. There’s such a strange satisfaction in him. “And if I haven’t got any water?”

Kylo panics. He can’t breathe, he’s so thirsty. He can’t _breathe_. There’s only one thing — he _can’t_ — there’s just one thing he — wants. So badly.

Can’t say. Needs _water,_ needs—

“Ren,” Hux says, smooth and cool and unmoveable: a certainty. “Hush. You’re fine. You’re good.” Kylo’s sat bolt upright, blind with terror, and Hux’s firm hand pressing at his sternum brings him back into his body with a shock.

He’s fine. He’s good. He’s sitting up. Hux is looking right at him, right here, and Hux is not worried that there isn’t anything here to drink. Hux has the thinnest ring of hazel green in his water-grey eyes. Kylo was wrong. Or, confused. There’s no hole inside either of them, no well for all that water to fill.

“Touch me,” Kylo says, and feels his whole body go useless with relief.

“There, you see?” Hux whispers, sighs almost, much quieter than before. “I knew you could tell me.”

It’s so nice, because Hux is _already_ touching him. Has been almost the whole time, except he’d stepped back for only just a second. Just a very little while.

“Please,” Kylo whispers back. Hux doesn’t really like to be _told_. But he’ll touch Kylo, now, if Kylo just asks. Kylo can feel the tug of it, the gravity between them like a weight on a string, swung back to stillness. The gravity of the whole rest of the universe, and outside that—the Force, held unmoving.

“Mm,” Hux murmurs, almost like he’s not listening because he’s _looking_ so hard, “all right. But only because you’re doing so well.” He doesn’t move either for a second, and that’s fine. His words echo down into Kylo’s centre, exactly what he wants to hear, with Hux tethering him there one-handed, exactly as he wishes to be tied. And then he slides that hand down, and down, draws a firm, hot stroke down the midline of Kylo’s body with his palm, and Kylo knows that he is going to split perfectly in two.

Kylo shouts.

Kylo falls down.

Kylo is already _lying_ down, even though he was sitting up just a second ago, but maybe Hux pushed him down. Maybe Kylo doesn’t make a noise.

“Shh,” Hux says, so he must have been shouting, “shh, thought I told you to hush. Thought you’d shut up if I touched you.”

The chair is tilted up. That’s what it is. That’s why Kylo is collapsed and they’re still eye-to-eye.

Even Kylo’s breathing comes out in a keening, begging whine.

“But you won’t, _ah_ ,” Hux doesn’t sound angry. Hux can’t be angry: Hux has his left hand at the closure on Kylo’s pants. He sounds… nearly laughing. So Kylo must be wrong about that, too. Hux is kneeling. Kylo is _gasping,_ Kylo is _drowning_ , Hux has bent his bright, shining head but Kylo is making such a _sound_ that Hux is looking up at him still. Up through his lashes, so fine they’re barely red. Everything about Hux is so fine and nothing about what Hux is doing makes sense. Hux smiles, half open-mouthed, tongue wicked between his teeth but he’s _smiling_. “You’re not going to shut up,” he says, talking faster than Kylo has maybe ever heard him talk, “not when you’re _dying_ for it. Can’t be quiet, can’t wait to spill out all of that, all for me. You’re going to be so ashamed — you already should be.”

Why would he be ashamed, when Hux is here so close and Hux isn’t leaving?

He does look down then, to undo Kylo’s pants, to take Kylo out with his deft, delicate fingers, still cold, and it’s all bad things that he’s saying now. Things about how he should have known what filth Kylo had in him, things that pull out all the terrible little longings that are there; things like “hopeless,” and “whore,” and “your nasty _cock_ , Ren, _hells_.” He pets it a little with his thumb, not enough. Taps sticky at the tip of it the same way he’d tapped his thumb at Kylo’s chin: thoughtfully. But he holds it out of the way and presses his face in, his nose, his _mouth_ — there so close to his cock where there’s hair just starting under Kylo’s navel. Ticklish. There where he’s centred, where all of him has pooled. And it’s bad things that he’s saying, all of a sudden, but he sounds so good. He sounds like he thinks what Kylo is feeling is _good_.

“You really are loud as hell, aren’t you?” Hux says, somewhere in the middle of all that, and Kylo can feel his breath. Feel his lips. On his belly.

“ _Please_ ,” Kylo sobs, because it’s the only word he has left. Because Hux told him, he said, Kylo has to tell him exactly what he wants. All he wants is: “Hux. Please.”

If he’d been peaceful before, satisfied with Hux’s perfect attention, he is desperate for it now. The stillness is so heavy, too heavy.

“Ask me one more time.” His bottom lip drags wet and soft and perfect over Kylo’s electrified skin. The shape of the words is unbearable because it’s so close. _One more. Ask_. His smile is so wicked, like a whetted blade, fearless enough to make Kylo afraid. And hadn’t he been—afraid? Hadn’t he known this was in Hux, too, all along with the recklessness.

But he isn’t afraid now. Hux has made him not afraid.

Hux has made him into exactly what he wants, and Hux’s satisfaction is a whole and perfect thing, is Kylo Ren, perfected.

“Touch me, Hux — anywhere.”

The drug has gone all wrong, it must have, because when Hux turns his head and drags his wet lips against him, against his cock now, oh, finally, centrifugal force pulls him apart. Hux’s mouth is on him, and it’s _inside_ him, and when he tongues under the head, so slow, so much _pressure_ , Kylo feels it in his guts instead. Has to crane up and look — Hux’s mouth is so red — it’s so wet — Kylo’s _blood_ —

Hux licks his lips, sloppy: spit and precum and no blood after all except for the way Kylo’s pulse pounds. Fists Kylo’s cock from the base to the tip, wrong way ‘round, and watches him wriggle. Kylo is beyond sound, finally, and it’s a relief but he can’t catch his breath. But when Hux slides his fist back down and his mouth down after it and his throat constricts — like it’s _Hux’s_ guts Kylo is going to be able to feel — Kylo still manages to choke on it.

Kylo can feel his heartbeat in his throat, or in Hux’s throat, or Hux’s heartbeat in all of him. He can’t be sure and he can’t think about it.

He clenches his fists as tight as he can, because he thinks he might reach out and he’s much too heavy and he’s going to wash away.

There’s something that Hux is doing with his other hand, outside of where Kylo is falling apart, and for a second Kylo thinks that he’s touching himself. But, no, Hux isn’t. Kylo is almost relieved; he can’t imagine Hux _masturbating_. Not right now, not and remember not to stop being good. Maybe not ever because — it’s Hux. Although. He rubs smooth circles at the top of Kylo’s thigh, nearly soothing when Kylo is so far outside of himself, and what he’s doing is, he is getting the top part of Kylo’s pants a little more out of the way.

The wet grip of Hux’s hand on Kylo’s dick speeds up, now he has the space. Gets familiar.

“Do you,” Kylo babbles, Kylo bucks, “do you, _oh_ , is that what you do to yourself? Like—” Hux reaches in to finger Kylo’s balls almost carefully, it’s an economy of delicacy against what he’s doing with his mouth, and _everything_ is good, and: “ _Hux_ , like _that._ ”

And, “Hux, Hux, do you want — I’m going to—”

But Hux can’t say yes in time, can’t tell Kylo it’s okay in time, and it doesn’t matter anyway because Kylo is coming, _right now_. Hux pets him through it, slow, slow, sweet, strokes his cock through it smoothly like he’ll drink Kylo right down. Kylo gasps and empties helplessly, but he fills to overflowing with something slow and sweet, too. Fills right up from his belly.

Only Hux doesn’t swallow.

He spits it straight onto the floor with a cold, wet _spat_ that jerks at Kylo somewhere inside: like he might spurt one more time just from that. Kylo doesn’t. He can’t; he’s done. Hux stands and rocks back, well clear anyway, and his gaze is finally the vivisection that Kylo was expecting all along. He’s so limp and fuzzy that he can’t even squirm under it.

And then horribly, thrillingly, Hux leans back in and down, almost until they touch foreheads. Almost for a kiss.

“Well now.” His breath on Kylo’s face smells like semen. Like Kylo’s cum. His hands are clasped behind his back. He’s looking down at the mess on the floor and not at Kylo, now, although from this close distance it would have been easier to look Kylo in the eye. There’s no chance of a stray touch. “Shall we consider the results?”

It’s like his lips are moving, saying one thing, and then what Kylo is hearing cannot possibly be the thing that Hux is saying. Hux’s whole mouth is shiny wet; he hasn’t wiped it.

“Efficacious, certainly,” Hux says, “but perhaps not so tidy after all. When you leave here, please ensure that you dispatch a droid to deal with… that.” He makes as if to draw the immaculate toe of his boot through the gob of it, waits 'til Kylo shivers, and then doesn’t. But he does look right back at Kylo, right in the eye. He knows. His lips—his _wet_ lips—brush Kylo’s cheek for an instant.

Kylo’s shiver is a sick shudder, on the verge of a helpless shaking in his very core, and Hux’s eyelids don’t do so much as flutter. He turns on his crisp, polished heel and walks out without even a pause at the unlocked door.

**Author's Note:**

> ADDITIONAL DETAILS ON THE NON-CON FOR THOSE WHO NEED THEM: Kylo is drugged and incoherent; no previous sexual relationship exists and he does not consent to sex beforehand. His initial consent to being injected with the experimental drug that Hux is testing is also dubious and grudging at best. There is some drug-induced anxiety in addition to its other effects. But he does, for what it's worth, more or less enjoy himself during even if he is probably not going to enjoy the fall-out.


End file.
